Time To Tell
by moon-majik
Summary: A short story examining why Athos made the decision to tell D'Artagnan about his past.


A/N: This is set at the end of episode 3 and investigates how Athos makes the decision to tell D'Artagnan about his past when he has never mentioned it to Aramis or Porthos. I was listening to Christina Perri's 'Jar of Hearts' on the radio on the way home from my epic night shift this morning and got the idea for this. I tried writing it without the lyrics but it just didn't flow very well so I have added the lyrics into the appropriate places. Apparently massive sleep deprivation makes me a little morose, a lot creative and also makes me want to write constantly. Thanks for reading.

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Athos knew that if D'Artagnan had not pulled him out of the flames that night, he would have been consumed by the fire in just the same way as his house, which was bowing to the flames as he watched. He couldn't help but feel resentment for the boy as he knelt in the grass. If D'Artagnan had just left him in the house it would all be over. He wouldn't have to face each day as the sun rose, knowing that it would just be a repeat of the day before. The cold pain he was feeling would not exist and he would not have to face the prospect of picking up the pieces of his life and carrying on. Athos' anger bubbled just under the surface as the boy ran to his horse to find water for his gasping leader. In his eyes, D'Artagnan had had no right to return for him and to rescue him from the inviting clutches of the fire. As he stared blindly at the inferno raging through his house, her face swam in front of him,

_I know I can't take one more step towards you_

_'Cause all that's waiting is regret_

_Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?_

_You lost the love I loved the most_

His life was filled with regret, with sorrow and sadness. He clung strongly to the belief that he had had no choice; that it was his duty to send the woman he loved to the gallows. To hang the only good thing left in his life. He had watched them lower the noose around her neck and then turned his horse around, fleeing to his bottle of wine. The image of her standing on the hillside, clutching forget-me-nots in her fingertips was burned into his mind. He hated himself for ordering her death and he hated himself even more for regretting that she was gone. He hated himself for missing her when the nights turned cold and the days got lonely. He hated himself every time he saw Porthos' face in the early hours of the morning, steadfastly carrying him back to his room, his mouth set in a grim line. He hated himself, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop loving her and he couldn't stop numbing the pain that that caused him.

He was nothing more than a ghost, floating through the days and drinking through the nights. She had done far more damage than murder all those years ago. She had taken his life from him with one thrust of a knife. He had loved her, more than he had ever loved anyone or anything and she had cruelly ripped that love from him.

_I learned to live half alive_

_And now you want me one more time_

For five years he had had to learn to live without her in his life. Without her but with the pain she had left behind. With the guilt he felt every time he saw her face in his mind and with the hurt and grief of the loss of his family and his future. He had learned to live in a world where on a good day, surrounded by Athos, Porthos and now D'Artagnan, he only felt half alive.

And then she had stepped into the room and that half-life was suddenly and violently torn apart at the seams.

_And who do you think you are?_

_Runnin' 'round leaving scars_

_Collecting your jar of hearts_

_And tearing love apart_

He had felt her presence all around the house from the moment they had walked through the doors, Porthos distracted by the pain from his shoulder and Aramis too distracted by the thought of loosing Porthos. Never in his wildest dreams had he believed that the presence he felt was actually her. Lost in memories he had gone from room to room, the past moving in front of his eyes and the emotions he fought so hard to hide every day bubbling to the surface.

_You're gonna catch a cold_

_From the ice inside your soul_

_So don't come back for me_

_Who do you think you are?_

The cold look in her eyes as she leaned over him, a knife at his throat scared him infinitely more than the burning flames raging around him and the smoke filling the air. Those things were a comfort, death calling to him softly with warm open arms. The ice in her eyes pinned him to the ground, the shock of seeing her again left him unable to move. She had done this, he had had to remind himself. She had been the one to tear his heart and soul from his body and rip them into tiny pieces as he watched. She was now the one who had returned to do the same; just as he was beginning to painfully stitch the pieces back together.

_I hear you're asking all around_

_If I am anywhere to be found_

_But I have grown too strong_

_To ever fall back in your arms_

It was his friends who made it possible for him to survive every day, Athos knew. Strong but quiet Porthos, who carried him home whenever he needed it, supporting both his body and his soul with his steady ways. Quick and clever Aramis, patiently stitching his body and his heart back together every time he was stupid enough to run headfirst into danger. Quick thinking and witty enough to make him laugh when it was truly necessary. Together they had given him enough strength to hold himself together, to function each and every day, but no more than that. Then along had come D'Artagnan. He had been the one to turn back and to fling himself into a burning building to save a friend. Stubborn and strong and willing to die to defend each of them. The only one of Athos' three friends who needed him to survive. The arrival of the young Gascon had finally given Athos the strength to start living again, to hold his head up with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, was depending on him to protect them.

_And I've learned to live half alive_

_And now you want me one more time_

Before they had come to this place he had believed that the days of living as just half a man were coming to an end. The arrival of D'Artagnan had stirred his life up, awoken an ability that he thought he had lost with the death of his brother at the hands of his wife. The ability to protect, to care and to love. The young boy looked up to Athos as his leader, as a potential father figure and as a friend and each time Athos caught D'Artagnan staring at him with admiration he felt like he hurt a little bit less.

_And who do you think you are?_

_Runnin' 'round leaving scars_

_Collecting your jar of hearts_

_And tearing love apart_

_You're gonna catch a cold_

_From the ice inside your soul_

_So don't come back for me_

_Who do you think you are?_

Time seemed to stop as the wind blew through the grounds of Athos' estate, bringing smoke and heat with it. Athos took a deep breath, feeling the thick smoke from the fire fill his throat, poisoning his lungs. With the exhale a new, sick feeling crept into his gut, twisting his stomach and rising through his body. He had to stop himself from crying out as he remembered the level of hatred and the desire for revenge he had seen in her as she crouched over him. She radiated cruelty and her mere presence commanded him to die at her hand. She was a far cry from the beautiful, carefree and innocent girl he had married. He choked back another sob as he realised the twisted and evil creature she had become was his fault. Her soul was pure ice, her mind set only on revenge, and he had created her the moment he condemned her to die, and then turned his back on her.

_And it took so long just to feel alright_

_Remember how to put back the light in my eyes_

Athos knew that he would never feel more than 'alright' again and as the flames climbed higher into the night sky he realised that it would take a long time before 'alright' became an option again. But he would pretend, as he always did, he would bury the past deep into his mind every morning so that he could step out of his front door and face the present. He would drink every night so that the sharp ache dulled enough for him to face closing his eyes and sleeping. He would fix his face into the 'Athos' expression of stoicism that his friends knew meant he was alright and he would keep pretending that his past was not important at all.

Burdening others with his problems was not his way.

_I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed_

_'Cause you broke all your promises_

_And now you're back_

It wasn't supposed to have been a love match. His father had arranged the marriage; the girl was a daughter of a close friend of his. The two had never met, and had no plans to meet before the day of their wedding. They were betrothed-by-proxy and they had exchanged letters for several months, but Athos found little to say to her through writing and found her description of her life in the French Court boring. And then they had met. She had been the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a smile constantly on her face and a laugh on her lips. She was intelligent and funny and they found themselves a good match. The first time they had kissed had been in front of the alter, and as their lips touched Athos had known that the marriage would be perfect. They grew to love each other with a passion above all else in their lives.

She had been a good liar.

_You don't get to get me back_

The strength of D'Artagnan, running in to a burning building to find him, lifting him from the ground and dragging him to safety, grounded Athos for a moment, bringing him back to the present. His wife had not died. She was intent on revenge and he had seen in her eyes that she would stop at nothing to have it. She would know D'Artagnan had rescued him. The boy was in danger now because of Athos. He had saved a life and shown his hand to a cold blooded murderess. Athos tried to look around for D'Artagnan, convinced that she had already taken him, but found himself unable to move, the thick smoke in the night air choking him as his breathing weakened. D'Artagnan's strength grounded him and helped him to steal his resolve. She would not have her revenge. She would not hurt his friends.

_And who do you think you are?_

_Runnin' 'round leaving scars_

_Collecting your jar of hearts_

_And tearing love apart_

He had to tell them. It was the only way to protect their hearts and their lives from her. If they knew who they were up against they would stand a chance, and perhaps all four of them would come out of Athos' private war unscathed. He had to make a choice, and all he could do was hope that it was the right one. He had to do what he had been doing since joining the musketeers: protect his friends. But this time, he had to protect them from himself.

_You're gonna catch a cold_

_From the ice inside your soul_

He had encased his heart in ice for too long and it was a struggle to break through it. For the first time as he closed his eyes, the image of his wife faded from his eyes and was replaced with the image of his friend, D'Artagnan's eyes staring at him with respect and admiration, desperate for approval and recognition for the man beginning to seem to him like a father.

_So don't come back for me_

_Don't come back at all_

He felt the cold water from D'Artagnan's water skin pour over his face, stirring him out of his thoughts as the boy grabbed hold of his chin and pulled his face up, trying to direct his attention from the burning house.

"What happened? Who was that woman?"

_And who do you think you are?_

_Runnin' 'round leaving scars_

_Collecting your jar of hearts_

_Tearing love apart_

_You're gonna catch a cold_

_From the ice inside your soul_

_Don't come back for me_

_Don't come back at all_

It was time to share his past with his friends, especially with the young man who had had the courage to do what Athos had not and pulled him from the flames.

It was time to tell his friend.

_Who do you think you are?_

"Since she arrived I've felt her presence everywhere. Thought I was imagining it." His voice sounded flat and emotional to his own ears, as if someone else was speaking the words. The monotone voice did not reflect the turmoil of emotions in his mind and in his heart and as a worried D'Artagnan grabbed his coat and shook him, he chocked back a sob.

"Who?" The desperation and panic increased in D'Artagnan's voice as Athos took his time to answer. "Who?"

The next words Athos spoke sounded as if they were ripped from his heart.

"My wife…."


End file.
